


boy i like it when you watch me

by johnnlaurenss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lapdance, M/M, PWP, Smut, Strip Tease, anyway, idk i wrote this at like midnight last night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 11:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnlaurenss/pseuds/johnnlaurenss
Summary: “You—” he splutters. “You can—when? Why? What—Ferre.”There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of Combeferre’s lips, one Courfeyrac has been trained to recognize. He’s playing Courfeyrac and he knows it. “Oh, is this about the pole dancing? I thought I told you about it weeks ago.”Courfeyrac still can’t form a cohesive thought. Thoughts are lost amidst the mental image of Combeferre dancing on a pole, and yeah, okay, Courfeyrac is so getting lucky tonight.***In which it's been at least a week since they've truly seen each other, Combeferre has been keeping secrets, and Courfeyrac is far too turned on by any of this to function properly





	boy i like it when you watch me

**Author's Note:**

> This is... shameless porn. Title is from Beyoncé's 'Dance For You' because I'm nothing if not predictable, but feel free to listen to any mood-setting music at your own risk.

Courfeyrac is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time Combeferre returns home.

 

It’s been a rough week for them, both consumed by their respective jobs and responsibilities and other commitments that have made it difficult for spending time together. Between working late or early hours, internships and volunteering, and duties to their friends, Courfeyrac is fairly certain he and Combeferre haven’t spent more than an hour together in over a week.

 

He hears Combeferre’s key in the lock before he even sees him, but the door swings open and there is Combeferre in all his beautiful, wonderful glory—looking particularly wonderful in his work suit and glasses. Courfeyrac is suddenly incredibly conscious of the fact he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants, but nonetheless Combeferre’s entire face lights up when he sees Courfeyrac.

 

“ _Hi_ ,” he says, sounding relieved and joyful all at once. Courfeyrac nearly launches himself at Ferre then, relishing in the way Combeferre’s arms encircle him and make him feel better instantaneously. “You act like it’s been days since you’ve seen me.”

 

“Feels like it has,” Courfeyrac whines. He nuzzles into Courfeyrac’s chest and twines his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how long it’s been since we’ve spent time together. Since we’ve had a proper conversation outside of ‘I love you’s and ‘goodbye’s.”

 

Combeferre squeezes him tighter. “Of course I noticed, you daft man,” he laughs. “I missed you, too.”

 

Courfeyrac is content to just cuddle him here, standing in the doorway. Combeferre always gives the best hugs, and his arms are warm and strong and his chest makes for a nice place to rest. He frowns after a moment though, and pokes at Combeferre’s stomach.

 

“Are those _abs_?” he asks.

 

Combeferre takes a breath, peering curiously at Courfeyrac. “I suppose they are, yes.”

 

“You’ve gotten more defined. I didn’t think it was _possible_ for you to get hotter,” Courfeyrac nearly whines. “That’s almost unfair.”

 

“Have I? Must be the dancing classes I’ve been taking,” Combeferre muses. He presses a distracted kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s kiss, ignoring the way Courf furrows his brow in confusion.

 

“Sorry, dancing classes?”

 

Combeferre is already pulling out of Courfeyrac’s embrace—much to Courf’s dissatisfaction—and reaching for the pile of mail left on the table by the door. He’s preoccupied, and Courfeyrac is used to his boyfriend coming home with a thousand and one things on his mind but this time it’s different, and then Ferre says in a faraway voice, no louder than a mumble, “Cosette and I, we’ve been taking pole dancing classes.”

 

Courfeyrac is pretty sure he’s having a heart attack.

 

Combeferre strolls past him like he didn’t just drop the _biggest bomb of the century_ , sorting through the mail in his hand as Courfeyrac just stares after him with his mouth gaping open like a fish. After a moment, he frowns and turns back to look at Courfeyrac.

 

“What?” Combeferre asks, looking alarmed.

 

Courfeyrac is _positive_ he’s having a heart attack.

 

“You—” he splutters. “You can— _when_? Why? What— _Ferre_.”

 

There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of Combeferre’s lips, one Courfeyrac has been trained to recognize. He’s _playing_ Courfeyrac and he _knows_ it. “Oh, is this about the pole dancing? I thought I told you about it weeks ago.”

 

Courfeyrac still can’t form a cohesive thought. Thoughts are lost amidst the mental image of Combeferre dancing on a _pole_ , and yeah, okay, Courfeyrac is _so_ getting lucky tonight.

 

“You didn’t,” he croaks. Combeferre smiles wickedly at him.

 

“How foolish of me,” he murmurs. He puts the mail down on the counter and makes his way back over to Courfeyrac, trailing his fingers up Courf’s arm at a maddeningly slow rate. “It must have slipped my mind.”

 

Courfeyrac swallows loudly.

 

“It was an interesting class,” Combeferre tells him. He’s tracing Courfeyrac’s jawline now, drawing out shivers as Courfeyrac tries to stand his ground. “We learned a lot of things, more than just dancing. Cosette has exceptional core strength. She excelled at the dancing, and me… Well. I seemed better suited for a different kind of dance.”

 

A strangled gasp makes its way out of Courfeyrac’s throat, against his will. His pupils are blown wide, breath shaky, and his arousal is evident through his sweatpants. He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes when Ferre leans forward so close that the next thing he says tickles Courfeyrac’s ear, breath hot. “Perhaps I can show you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

 

Courfeyrac is _positive_ that the sound he makes next is as dignified as a growl, but he’s so turned on at the moment that he can’t find it within himself to even care. Messily, he crashes into Combeferre who is—obnoxiously—still in his full suit from work, and kisses him like his life depends on it. Judging by how desperate he is for any semblance of friction, his life may actually depend on it at this point. Combeferre lets out a growl of his own when Courfeyrac latches onto him, and he presses Courf flush against the door and licks into his mouth.

  
Courfeyrac will never get over the fact that Ferre is the best damn kisser in the entire world.

 

Combeferre plays dirty, though—he presses Courfeyrac’s hips against the door, effectively shutting down all attempts to get any of the friction he so desperately needs. After a while, Courfeyrac can’t take it any longer. He wants to _see_ Ferre, wants to know what he can do and wants to do filthy things to him in return. When he pulls away from Combeferre’s kiss, its loud and messy and he can’t stop himself from grabbing Combeferre by his tie and _dragging_ him to the couch.

 

He’s glad to let Combeferre take the reigns after that.

 

Combeferre pushes him gently down onto the couch, takes in his debauched appearance—Courfeyrac’s curls are wild, eyes and pupils wide, skin flushed and chest heaving as he tries to regain his breath. Courfeyrac knows Ferre loves to see him like this; completely wrecked, a direct result of Ferre’s own handiwork. Ferre reaches up and loosens his tie, just a bit, before leaning down and pressing a quick, dirty kiss to Courfeyrac’s jaw.

 

Courfeyrac practically whines when Combeferre moves away, towards the speakers, and Combeferre shushes him with a look. He fiddles with the speakers and his phone for a minute until a song starts playing and fills the room. Courfeyrac gulps.

 

“Can’t dance without music,” Combeferre says lowly, making his way back towards Courfeyrac.

 

Yeah, he’s not even going to last to the end of the song.

 

Shockingly enough, Combeferre _mastered_ the sultry walk, because the way that his hips move as he approaches is damn near sinful. Courfeyrac is a _goner_.

 

Combeferre doesn’t look away from him the entire time; not as he walks back, not as he leans down and trails his fingertips along Courfeyrac’s lips and jaw and collarbone, not as he twines his fingers in the curls at the nape of Courfeyrac’s neck. His other hand comes to rest on Courfeyrac’s thigh, moving up slowly and surely.

 

“There are rules,” Combeferre murmurs, and that statement alone sends a shiver down Courfeyrac’s spine. “First and foremost, no touching.”

 

Courfeyrac sucks in a sharp breath.

 

“Second,” Combeferre says, and Courfeyrac can hardly breathe because Combeferre moves to straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. “Everything initiated is initiated by me. I have _absolute_ control.”

 

Courfeyrac is fairly sure he can manage that.

 

“Third,” Combeferre whispers, and he’s leaned forward to suck on a spot where Courfeyrac’s neck meets his shoulder. “When this is over, you are to take me apart completely and totally; you are to _wreck_ me and unravel me and show me how grateful you are.”

 

Courfeyrac gasps out his affirmative. He can feel Ferre grin against his neck, and he knows he’s done for.

 

Combeferre sits back again, makes and retains eye contact, and then his hips begin to move along Courfeyrac’s lap to the beat of the music. He stops dragging his fingers along Courfeyrac’s chest and shoulders for long enough to take off his tie and unbutton his shirt, all while never breaking the movement of his hips.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Courfeyrac chokes out when Combeferre brushes up against his ever-pressing erection. Combeferre grins wickedly once again. He’s slipping out of his shirt, discarding it and leaning forward to press a series of messy, dirty kisses along Courfeyrac’s jaw and mouth. His hips are still moving at their maddeningly slow pace, never out of beat with the music but not fast enough to provide the friction Courfeyrac craves. He’s having trouble with the no touching rule, now that Combeferre is shirtless and so close, breath hot on his neck and skin soft and tight and _god_ , he really _has_ defined his abs with these dancing classes—

 

Combeferre rocks his hips forward, simultaneously brushing up against Courfeyrac’s dick and pressing his own obvious arousal against Courfeyrac’s stomach. Courfeyrac sucks in a sharp breath—out of instinct, his hands fly up to grab Combeferre’s hips and draw him back again. Combeferre grabs at his wrists in a surprisingly tactile and quick reaction and slowly lifts up Courfeyrac’s arms until he’s pinned them up in the air against the wall.

  
“I said no touching,” he practically purrs, and he circles his hips in Courfeyrac’s lap again. Courfeyrac is going to go mad before this whole ordeal is even over. “But then again, you know how much I like seeing you like this—pliant, held in my grip.”

 

Courfeyrac whimpers. “Ferre,” he gasps. He sounds _wrecked_ and they both know it. Combeferre trails his free hand down Courfeyrac’s arms until he comes to a stop at Courf’s face and takes his chin in his hand.

 

When Combeferre kisses him like this, Courfeyrac _knows_ what’s yet to come. Gone is the gentle, timid exterior people often claim Combeferre has, replaced by raw instinct and a hunger and a drive that Courfeyrac himself can barely rival. He kisses slow, teasing, his tongue tracing Courfeyrac’s bottom lip but never going farther than that, pulling back just when Courfeyrac thinks he’ll deepen the kiss. His one hand is still tight on Courfeyrac’s wrists, fingers splayed and absentmindedly caressing Courf’s skin. It’s no secret that Courfeyrac has a hand kink, _especially_ with Combeferre’s hands, and light touches like those always manage to drive him mad.

 

Added on to the teasing kisses and the way Combeferre keeps moving his body across Courfeyrac’s, he’s not sure how much more he can take.

 

Finally, _finally_ , Combeferre presses his lips more firmly against Courfeyrac’s and licks his way into his mouth, deepening the kiss and swallowing the throaty noises Courfeyrac makes and kissing him near an inch of his life. He’s losing the beat now, distracted by the kiss, and his hips are more rutting against Courfeyrac’s now than dancing and that’s really all Courfeyrac can take. He twists out of Combeferre’s grip and wraps his arms around Ferre’s waist, shifting them so that they’re lying down on the couch with Ferre on top of him.

 

“As hot as that was,” Courfeyrac gasps out as Combeferre drags his hips up again and brushes his cock against Courf’s. “ _God,_ and—and trust me, it was _hot_. Jesus, _Ferre_ —I need _more_.”

 

“I know,” Ferre groans, and he sounds just as debauched as Courf feels. Desperately, Combeferre’s hands grab at Courfeyrac’s hips until he realizes what Ferre is trying to do. It doesn’t take long for him to shed his shirt, but Combeferre stops him before he can shrug out of his sweatpants as well. “ _Bedroom_. Lube—”

 

Courfeyrac makes a strangled sound at that.

 

Quickly, Ferre helps him to his feet and they stagger towards the bedroom, barely able to keep their hands off one another. Courfeyrac runs his fingers along Combeferre’s chest, along the defined abs and the tattoos and he’s relishing in how _beautiful_ his boyfriend is. His hand dips dangerously low and Combeferre _growls_ , turns suddenly and presses Courfeyrac against the wall to kiss him hard and dirty again and again. His hand slides in between them, cupping Courfeyrac’s dick over the fabric of his sweatpants and drawing more breathy noises from him.

 

“Ferre,” Courfeyrac gasps, and it’s all the persuasion they need to continue towards the bedroom.

 

Courfeyrac doesn’t hesitate before pushing Combeferre down on the bed and stripping out of his sweatpants.

 

He’s settling above Combeferre, making quick work of unbuttoning Combeferre’s trousers and easing them off of his body, along with his briefs. Combeferre’s cock is hard and persistent and wondrously tempting—Courfeyrac kisses his way along Combeferre’s thighs before licking up the length and taking it into his mouth.

 

Combeferre lets out a string of colorful curses and breathy moans that tells Courfeyrac he’s doing his job well.

 

He’s content to take Combeferre apart like this—pressing kisses to the tip and licking and sucking in ways he particularly knows can drive Combeferre insane. But he gets an idea and it was a _rule_ —he’s got to absolutely _wreck_ Combeferre. He pulls off of Combeferre’s cock with a sound that is far past obscene, grinning wickedly at the way it makes Combeferre whine and writhe. The dresser isn’t too far—he’s able to reach it and still be able to stroke his fingers along Combeferre’s dick to tease him. It only takes him a minute to find the small bottle of lube, and when his fingers wrap around it he lets out a triumphant yell.

 

“Holy _fucking_ —” Combeferre gasps out, and Courfeyrac grins as Combeferre struggles to breathe.

 

It doesn’t take him long to uncap the bottle and coat his fingers—after all, he’s been doing this for some time now and he knows what it takes to make Combeferre writhe. Combeferre is letting out breathless gasps and near-silent curses in anticipation. So Courfeyrac lines up a single finger to start, inserting it slowly as he goes back down on Combeferre’s dick, and stopping after a moment to let Combeferre adjust.

 

“ _Fucking god, Christ_ ,” Combeferre is babbling, and Courfeyrac can’t help but smirk in satisfaction.

 

He pumps his finger in slowly, testing the waters and drawing out more expletives and moans as he changes the pace. He matches the bobs of his mouth to the rh ythm of the pumps, and eventually he adds another coated finger and stretches Combeferre, scissoring him open and positively vibrating at the way it makes him moan.

 

Combeferre is particularly loud when it comes to sex, and Courfeyrac makes it his personal goal to draw as many sounds from him as possible. He curls his fingers after a particularly forceful thrust, and Combeferre hisses and grabs at the sheets and stammers, “Courf— _god_ , _more_. Courfeyrac—”

 

Who is Courf to deny him?

 

He adds a third finger as he licks another strip along the underside of Combeferre’s cock, and Combeferre gasps spectacularly and shivers. “I’m gonna—” he warns, but it’s cut off by a strangled yell as Courfeyrac curls his fingers again, brushing against his prostate. “ _Courfeyrac_!”

 

He comes without much more warning, and—like a pro—Courfeyrac swallows him down and helps him ride out every last minute of his orgasm. Combeferre is gasping for breath by the time Courfeyrac moves his mouth away and pulls his fingers out. He’s far too close to coming himself—too tense from the week they’d spent apart and too turned on from the lap dance and strip tease and the sounds of his boyfriend coming undone. He moves up the bed slowly, until he reaches Combeferre and can kiss him in a messy, tired way that’s more teeth and lips than anything else. Eventually, Combeferre reaches down between them and takes Courfeyrac’s dick in his hand. Courfeyrac nearly cries out at the sensation, desperate for friction, and he fucks into Combeferre’s hand without much encouragement.

 

Combeferre’s fingers are long and nimble, and he knows how to trace his way along Courfeyrac’s cock and how to wrap his hand around him in the best ways. Courfeyrac’s hips stutter in their movement but Combeferre remains vigil, wrapping his fingers and tracing and pumping until Courfeyrac cries out in his own release.

 

He’s incredibly sated by the time he comes down from the post-orgasm high, Combeferre grinning lazily at him after having cleaned the both of them up. Courfeyrac can’t help but smile in return. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

Combeferre shrugs. “If I’d have known that you’d be that turned on by my dancing, I would have told you _ages_ ago,” he says with a breathless laugh. “I’m also. I’m just incredibly lucky to have you.”

 

Courfeyrac smacks his chest but curls up against him anyway, too happy and sated to be anything else. “You’re a sap. I’m lucky too, don’t you ever think I forget that or don’t believe it.”

 

They’re content like that for a while, cuddling in their typical post-sex fashion and relishing in the fact that they finally get to spend time together again, after so much time apart due to their lives, when a thought occurs to Courfeyrac.

 

“Okay, but _can_ you pole dance?”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://feuillyys.tumblr.com) crying abt les mis or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tannscotts) posting about various things.
> 
>  
> 
> comment, kudos, bookmark below!


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